The Faith of Men eBook

I knew there were big deeds and wild doings behind
that sigh, so I haled him into a corner, between a
roulette outfit and a poker layout, and waited for
his tongue to thaw.

“Had one objection to Moosu,” he began,
cocking his head meditatively—­“one
objection, and only one. He was an Indian from
over on the edge of the Chippewyan country, but the
trouble was, he’d picked up a smattering of
the Scriptures. Been campmate a season with a
renegade French Canadian who’d studied for the
church. Moosu’d never seen applied Christianity,
and his head was crammed with miracles, battles, and
dispensations, and what not he didn’t understand.
Otherwise he was a good sort, and a handy man on
trail or over a fire.

“We’d had a hard time together and were
badly knocked out when we plumped upon Tattarat.
Lost outfits and dogs crossing a divide in a fall
blizzard, and our bellies clove to our backs and our
clothes were in rags when we crawled into the village.
They weren’t much surprised at seeing us—­because
of the whalemen—­and gave us the meanest
shack in the village to live in, and the worst of
their leavings to live on. What struck me at
the time as strange was that they left us strictly
alone. But Moosu explained it.

“‘Shaman sick tumtum,’ he
said, meaning the shaman, or medicine man, was jealous,
and had advised the people to have nothing to do with
us. From the little he’d seen of the whalemen,
he’d learned that mine was a stronger race,
and a wiser; so he’d only behaved as shamans
have always behaved the world over. And before
I get done, you’ll see how near right he was.

“‘These people have a law,’ said
Mosu: ’whoso eats of meat must hunt.
We be awkward, you and I, O master, in the weapons
of this country; nor can we string bows nor fling
spears after the manner approved. Wherefore the
shaman and Tummasook, who is chief, have put their
heads together, and it has been decreed that we work
with the women and children in dragging in the meat
and tending the wants of the hunters.’

“‘And this is very wrong,’ I made
to answer; ’for we be better men, Moosu, than
these people who walk in darkness. Further, we
should rest and grow strong, for the way south is
long, and on that trail the weak cannot prosper.’”

“‘But we have nothing,’ he objected,
looking about him at the rotten timbers of the igloo,
the stench of the ancient walrus meat that had been
our supper disgusting his nostrils. ’And
on this fare we cannot thrive. We have nothing
save the bottle of “pain-killer,” which
will not fill emptiness, so we must bend to the yoke
of the unbeliever and become hewers of wood and drawers
of water. And there be good things in this place,
the which we may not have. Ah, master, never
has my nose lied to me, and I have followed it to
secret caches and among the fur-bales of the igloos.
Good provender did these people extort from the poor
whalemen, and this provender has wandered into few